Pride
by riahbobiah
Summary: They call her the town witch. No one likes her. But she married the baker and helped raise the Peeta we all know and love, so she can't be all bad. Or is she? This is the story of Lynnetta Flaxbourne, the future Mrs. Mellark. And this is a story of pride.
1. Chapter 1

"Dad… Why does mother hate everyone from the Seam?"

Peeta's face had a fresh welt on it; his mother had hit him with her rolling pin an hour before his father arrived at home. Carefully spreading the herbal salve on his son's cheek, Mr. Mellark sighed.

"There is only one answer to that question, Peeta. It's her pride."

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_My name is Lynnetta Flaxbourne. I am fifteen years old. My home is District 12. My parents own the textile shop in town. And I love a boy who lives in the Seam._

"If you don't plait your hair before school, you'll look as bad as those kids from the Seam. Do it yourself or get over here. I can't wait around on you all morning! Your father needs help unloading fabric from the train."

"Why does it matter what I look like at school? We're all covered in coal dust from the mines, anyway!"

A slap from her hand stings on my cheek. I knew that I should have stayed silent. She begins to raise her voice as she pushes me down on the stool in front of her.

"Lynnetta Rose! I've never heard you say something so ridiculous! You and I both know that we are completely different from them. There is no shame in being proud of who you are. Your father's parents made the difficult social climb from Seam workers to live as merchants. Thanks to their labors, you deserve to look better than those scavenging children. Are you not grateful for your grandparents' hard work? Do you want to throw all their hardships back in their faces?"

My mother continues, yanking my blonde hair into a tight braid down my back.

"I simply cannot believe that my own daughter could say such a thing. And after all your father and I have done to provide for you, you think being separated from the Seam doesn't matter? Overcoming struggles to survive, to make a better life, putting the odds in your favor when no one else has the will to even try it, Lynnetta... That's why it matters!"

Her hands stop fidgeting with my hair, and I feel her smoothing out a wrinkle in my shirt.

"There. All done. Put your coat on, and get going. You mustn't be late again!"

I know in my heart that what she says about the importance of my family rising from the ashes is true, but I hate the way she talks about it. I hate that she is so grounded on her belief that we are completely different from the people in the Seam. I might have a little more food on my plate, but my clothes are still thin and drab, the roof over my head still leaky, and my body still small and weak.

* * *

I arrive at the small schoolhouse, sliding into my wooden seat just before the teacher enters the room. I look at the list she writes on the board, what we will learn today. I know what it will be before the chalk touches the wall: more about the coal mining process.

You would think that learning the same thing over and over would make you an expert. I should have every fact about District 12 memorized by now. Still, school is hard for me. Truthfully, I'm not particularly good at anything. I can't figure math in my head. I can't remember dates in history. I can't sing or play instruments. And, like everybody else, I have a hard time focusing on the long lectures on coal and Panem, day in and day out. My father told me I had to try my best to get good marks. He said it was very important to be smart, that it would show me the value in myself. Sometimes I wonder what that even means. If I'm no good at anything, what good is trying? He expects me to be perfect, and I do my best, but I am always afraid that he knows I have failed him.

Today we listen to a lecture over the benefits of coal. It's so exciting that I can hardly keep my eyes open as my head bobs up and down in fatigue.

* * *

After school is over, I search the wintry yard for him. He is waiting for me by the edge of the rickety fence encompassing the school. My eyes trace his familiar face, his square jaw, olive skin, hair as black as night. My body aligns itself next to his, facing the opposite direction, and his words flow from the corner of his mouth into my right ear.

"Lynn, fancy seeing you here…" Markas whispers. Although I can't see it, I hear the smile in his voice as I look at past the fence.

"I'm shocked at your apparent arrogance," I grin, biting my lip.

I walk a few paces ahead of him, to keep suspicion down. The Capitol only knows what would happen if my father found out I was meeting up with a boy from the Seam every day. We kept our eyes searching for both Peace Keepers and parents on our way to the Victor's Village. It's the perfect spot to hide, the only person who is ever around is Haymitch, the victor of last year's 50th Hunger Games, but he left this morning for his Victory Tour. Knowing that we have the deserted area to ourselves, we settle ourselves on the frozen ground, leaning against the back of an empty house. A long period of watching the wind swirling around broken leaves ensues before Markas finally breaks the silence.

"It's weird to think that someone actually lives over here now..."

His forehead wrinkles in thought as his words continue quietly.

"You know, Haymitch winning was probably the worst thing that ever happened to District 12…", he mutters, carefully keeping his volume below the sound of the wind.

I know what Markas means. It's eerily empty in the Victor's Village. Haymitch is the 2nd victor to ever come from District 12, and the last victor died before we were born. This past Hunger Games was a Quarter Quell, spelling out disaster for each of the districts. Four tributes from each were pulled instead of two this year. It was bad enough that we lost three others in the games last year, but as soon as Haymitch won, Luisa and Alger Abernathy - his mother and brother, disappeared, along with his girlfriend of two years, Genever Whishart. Everyone assumed they had gone to congratulate him after the win, but when Haymitch returned home after the games, they did not.

"Genever was my closest thing to a best friend," I comment. I didn't really have any friends, but what I said was correct. Most of the merchant kids in my year were mourning the loss Maysilee Donner, another tribute who had died in the Quell, but the two of us had never been close. Genever, on the other hand, had eaten with me at lunch everyday, occasionally coming to my house to spend time with me, and vise versa. I thought about mentioning to Markas that Genever always disapproved of me liking him, she thought it was wrong to disobey my parents obvious wishes, but thought better of it before opening my mouth. We did not need another soul against us, not when we were fighting so hard to be together.

When we're together, mostly Markas and I just sit in silence. Sometimes he kisses me, and I gladly kiss back. This outing was no exception. His lips and my lips move together, the chilly air encroaching in on our warmth. Everything feels right when I'm with him.

Soon, it starts to get dark. Markas stands up and offers me his hand. Pulling me up, he draws me in for one final kiss. After a few more seconds, he leads me back back towards town. We sneak out of the Victor's Village; myself heading towards the town center, Markas traveling towards the Seam.

**AN: What do you think so far? I have always hated the idea that Mrs. Mellark is as evil as other FF's portray her, and this is my response. Any comments, questions, and feedback appreciated, especially constructive criticism. Please, please review! And thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I feel the straw mattress sag near my waist, and open my eyes to find my father resting on the edge of the bed, his warm, olive face grinning down at me.

"Lynnetta, sweetie. It's time to get up. I need your help in the shop today. This morning Panlee's mother came over to tell me that she is out sick with something terrible."

Panlee is the shop assistant my parents hired a few years ago, when they realized how awful I am at selling and trading cloth to the locals in the district.

"Okay, dad. I'll head down there as soon as I can."

He brushes my hair from my face, smiles, and leaves the room. My hands grope around until they pull off the thin sheet covering me, not that it had offered much protection from the bitter cold that crept through the house anyway. Luckily, I had donned my best pair of woolen socks last night before falling asleep.

Sitting down in front of the cracked mirror that hangs on the wooden wall in my bedroom, I take my comb and begin to pick through the thin, tangled mess on top of my head. If I'm working in the shop today, my father will expect me to look my best. Not that I'm ever allowed to look otherwise. My fingers place the strands of hair into two long braids. When I am fully satisfied, I get dressed and walk out of my room into the kitchen, the smell of my mother's porridge filling my nostrils.

"Lynnetta, it's Saturday and you do not have school, so I'm sure you planned on busying yourself with your studies, but your father needs you in the shop today. I have to do the wash, and apparently Panlee fell ill last night and-"

"I know, mother. He already told me this morning before he left. I'm headed down there right now, actually."

"Not before you eat. Can't have you starving, now can we?"

Her question makes it seem like we have enough food to keep ourselves from going hungry. We always had just enough to get by, but never enough to get full. Still, any food was better than no food.

My body finds its place at the table while my mother sets a small bowl of mush in front of me. The greyish cereal goes down, but not very willingly. It is slimy and tasteless, but thankfully it calms the rumbling of hunger in my belly. Donning my ratty, woolen coat, I jog outside into the freshly falling snow and over to my father's textile shop in the square.

* * *

"Closing time! How'd we do today, Miss Lynn?" my father asks when the last customer leaves the store.

"Well, we sold 4 whole yards today. That's better than all of last week combined, according to your ledger," I remark, reading through the leather-bound book of transactions.

"It's the cold. We always sell more fabric when the weather goes south," he notes.

As we sweep the store one last time before leaving, a figure appears at the door, and a rush of cold air floods into the shop.

"Hello, Mr. Flaxbourne. Got time for one last customer?" Markas asks.

"Always do," replied my father, sizing up Markas from across the counter. It wasn't unheard of, but it also was not often that Seam children came into his shop. "What can I get for you, son?"

It's funny, hearing my father call him that. Really funny, because the two of them could easily be mistaken as father and son, with their dark hair and brown eyes. My father is always quick to compliment me on receiving my mother's good looks, but sometimes I wonder if he is glad I look like all the other girls from town, and none of the girls from the Seam.

"I need a yard of your thickest cotton," Markas tells my father, stumbling on his last word. It's apparent that he just noticed that it was myself, not Panlee, standing behind the counter. His awkwardness quickens my pulse, and suddenly I'm aware of how much my hands are shaking. Counting my inhales and exhales to keep my cool, I head over to the bolts of fabric, cut off a yard of the requested material, and fold it neatly into a square. While handing the bundle to Markas, our fingers touch, and my face gets hot. I turn away quickly, so that my father will not see the redness that now fills my cheeks. Markas fidgets around in his pocket for his money, then sets down some coins on the counter, his eyes wandering wildly about the room. My father counts the coins, thanks Markas for his purchase, and ushers him out the door.

* * *

"Four and a half yards! Wait until we tell your mother. I'm so proud of how well you handled everything today! Maybe we should go back to having you work in the shop after all!" he comments gleefully, as we lock up the front door.

"Then I wouldn't have as much time for my studies, father," I point out.

What he doesn't need to know is that my after school study sessions are usually an excuse to go see Markas. Sometimes we try to study, but that never lasts long. As my father and I walk home, our boots crunching in the snow, I let myself wonder what would have happened if my father found out about Markas tonight. The though makes me shudder. When we finally arrive at our home, I rush to my room and let out a sigh of relief. Markas and I would have to be more careful. Close calls like this could lead to trouble.

* * *

"Lynn… do you love me?" Markas's eyes filled with curiosity.

It's been over a month since the incident in my father's shop, and Markas and I are once again hiding out in the Victor's Village.

"What kind of question is that?"

Not sure how to take his sudden twist in the conversation, my pulse rises quickly and my palms begin to sweat.

"An honest one. If you answer it, you can ask me, and I'll answer it, too."

"But why do I need to answer first? It's a bit forward, and we've only been seeing each other for half a year. I'm not sure I'm want to answer it, unless you tell me why you brought it up."

There. That was a good, solid response. He wouldn't wriggle my emotions out of me so easily. Although he might get some of my lunch. My stomach feels like it can't decide whether I should be happy, sad, afraid, or puking.

"Well, my birthday is coming up soon, and I'll be turning seventeen. That only leaves one more year until I start work in the mines, and my mother is worried I'm not going to settle down soon enough," he explains calmly.

"So what does that have to do with your question, exactly?"

I'm still thrown off and slightly bewildered by the original inquiry. What in the world is this boy getting at, here?

"If you love me, then that means that I will be one-hundred-percent confident in telling my mother not to worry about anything. That I'm already looking towards the future, not only the here and now. Obviously, there are always obstacles to the future, but I like to be optimistic. And I was sort of hoping you would have answered "yes" by now."

My brain is attempting to process his words, but they still are not making sense. Markas can clearly see the incomprehension on my face, because after a few moments of silence, he continues, his sentences turning into ramblings.

"Right now, I'm not thinking about my future. Frankly, I don't care about it at all. That's because all I can think about is you, and how I love spending time with you, and how we are here together, right at this very moment. And it's great. But if you love me, Lynn, and we're a serious couple, then there is a hope for a future for us. And I really want that future. So if you say you love me, then I can start letting myself dream about a life with you, and I'll finally be planning out my future. I'll be able to reassure my mother that I'm on the right track, and she'll stop fretting so much. She'll also try to stop setting me up with her silly friends' daughters, a practice I would love to stop. And all of this depends on if you love me or not and…"

He takes a deep breath and I have a feeling I know what's coming. When he resumes speaking, I find I was right in my assumption.

"Lynnetta Flaxbourne, I, Markas Fenly, love you. Honestly, I do. And so with that confession, I really, truly want to know the answer - do you love me?"

Knowing that my silence is killing him, I force out the best answer I can under such nerve-wracking circumstances.

"Yeah, I guess so."

**AN: Seriously, people - I love reviews! Please don't be shy! I really want to get some comments and opinions before I continue with the story. Have any thoughts or questions? Do you think the character Lynnetta is plausible as future Mrs. Mellark? Thank you for reading & reviewing, and I hope to hear from you soon! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Immediately after they escape my lips, I want to take back my words. They sounded so obvious in my head, but so ignorant, and almost cruel, out loud. How could I have been stupid enough to say them?_ "I guess so?"_ What in Panem was I thinking?

Remorse takes hold, and I want to go back in time and tell Markas exactly how I feel about him and the whole situation he threw us into. I want to explain to him how I do love him, with all my heart, more than I have ever loved anything or anyone. How the slight hint that he may be seeing other girls to appease his mother threw me into a silent, jealous rage. How I'm also deeply afraid of what he said, on so many levels.

I'm afraid we're moving too fast. I'm afraid the year and a half in age difference is making me appear naive. I'm afraid of what Genever would think of this, if she was still here. I'm afraid of what my parents will think. I'm afraid of shaming my grandparents, and everything they worked so hard for. I'm afraid that if Markas knew about my reservations, that he would surely leave me. Now, after my huge blunder of an response, I'm afraid that he's going to leave me anyway. And there is something else in my mind, bothering me more than any other fear, that I can't quite place, can't figure out. It's something else I'm afraid of, it's what I'm afraid of the most, actually, but for the life of me, I can't pinpoint what it is.

* * *

"Is that really the best answer you can come up with, Lynn?"

In my current state of turmoil, I do the only logical thing I can think of, which also happens to probably be the worst thing to do - I get defensive.

"Yes, Markas, it is the best answer I can come up with."

"I don't want you saying that you guess you love me. It's okay if you don't. It doesn't mean you will or won't later. You can say no, I just need to know the truth."

"The truth? You throw a huge curve ball like this at me and expect me to gush out all this emotional truth? I'm sorry, but I don't work that way! You can't just overwhelm me by telling me you love me and want to plan a future with me and plan on hearing me respond with how much I care about you and how I really love you and how I would absolutely love to have a future with you-"

"Well, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you care about me and love me and want to have a future with me?"

I try to take a moment to ponder what Markas is saying. His eyes are staring deep into mine, almost as if they are touching my innermost thoughts and I can't take it anymore. The words sputter out of my mouth bitterly, "Yes, Markas. Yes, I do."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!"

A smirk appears on his boyish face. Dear Capitol, what have I gotten myself into?

"Okay then, Miss Flaxbourne. Prove it."

The grin on his face begins to grow. My breath jars and butterflies fill me up as I lean in to kiss him. I'm closing my eyes and about to brush my lips with his in a declaration of love, when he pulls away.

"Nope. A kiss doesn't prove anything, Lynn," he says as I stare back in confusion. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.

Huffing in frustration, the sarcastic question leaves my lips.

"Okay, Mr.-Know-It-All, what would?"

"Tomorrow, after school. Instead of going to the Victor's Village, we go back to my house."

"To your… house?" I repeat, the words echoing in my mind. My voice sounds hollow and uncomprehending.

"Yes, Lynn. To my house. To prove that you love me, I want you to meet my mother and sister."

"Your mother?"

The words sound foreign on my tongue. A sickening feeling fills me up as I try to contort my face into a convincing smile. My attempt must be working, because Markas simply smiles back at me.

* * *

My nerves are throwing me off the deep end. My foot won't stop tapping; the teacher has already reprimanded me twice today for it. Part of me wonders how likely it is that the school will collapse before the end of our lesson. For a moment, I fall into a fantasy of dusty schoolhouse rubble crushing me. The rolling in the pit of my stomach brings me back to reality. My eyes attempt to focus on the chalkboard. No good. Instead, I stare at the back of the head in front of me. I still can't keep my mind from wandering though, and it dawns on me that I have no clue who the person sitting in front of me is today. Of course, it's a girl, blonde, like myself, but as to which girl it is, I have no idea. The bell ending the school day is ringing in my ears. I'm going to be sick. Children around me pick up their books and file out of the classroom. Maybe if I get sick, I won't have to go.

Collecting my school things, I get up from my chair. Outside, he's waiting for me by the fence. Like always.

"Took you long enough. Everyone else is already gone. I almost thought you'd gotten past me somehow," Markas greets me, as I fall into pace behind him.

"I couldn't very well let people see me, could I? What if someone told my father?"

"He'll have to find out eventually, you know," he declares.

"Don't remind me."

The roads on the way to the Seam are more quiet at this time of day than those in town. I suppose its because most of the people who don't live in town are coal miners, and they won't be getting off work for another hour or so. The lack of bodies around us give Markas a boost of confidence, and he grabs hold of my hand. Leading me along the rocky, dirt path, it is clear that he knows this road, though completely unfamiliar to me, by heart. As the homes around us grow smaller and more cabin-like, my palms begin to sweat. Markas notices the shift in my demeanor, and flashes a reassuring grin in my direction. Little does he know that at this moment in time, I've suddenly figured out what else it is that I'm terribly afraid of. And what I'm afraid of... is the Seam.

** AN: Any comments or suggestions are greatly appreciated! I'm interested to know what you think of the story so far! Thank you for reading & reviewing! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"The Seam usually produces one type of people, Lynnetta," my father says as we watch the mandatory broadcasting of the 42nd Hunger Games. I'm 8 years old. It's the second day in the games, and the boy from District Twelve has already been killed. We only have one tribute left. My father directions his attention to me as he continues.

"The people from the Seam are the type of people who just get by. They are ill-mannered, course, and often do not care about anyone outside of their own family. They only try hard enough to survive, because that's all they can ever fathom doing. The Seam is a terrible place, that no one should have to endure, but alas, that is not the case in reality."

"Not everyone from the Seam is like that, papa! What about Grandfather and Grandmother?"

"You're right, angel. The roughness and cruelness of the Seam can also produce another type of person. It's not very often, but if the person works hard enough, if they don't give up, they can rise from the ashes. Those few people are the fighters. Just like my parents fought."

"How did they fight? Papa, how did they do it?"

"They always thought out their choices. By following the rules, they kept the Peacekeepers on their good side. By working hard, they were able to get the best shifts in the mines. By taking on extra jobs besides working in the mines, they were able to save up some money. By being good on their word, they became more respected in society. By waiting to have a child until they were sure they could take care of it, they made sure that I would not have to grow up in the Seam. They put the odds in their favor, Lynnetta. In our favor."

"Why doesn't everyone in the Seam do what they did? It doesn't sound hard, papa."

My gaze locks into his grey eyes as they search to find an answer that I will understand.

"Sweetie, it is hard. It's very, terribly hard. And that's why people in the Seam stay in the Seam. Working two jobs is difficult. Waiting to start a family with the one you love is also tough. Like I said before, the Seam usually produces only one type of people. The fighters are few and far between. For the most part, the Seam is a hopeless place."

A cannon fires on the black and white television set in front of us. The last tribute from our district, an older girl who came from the Seam, has just fallen.

"That's what happens to people from the Seam, Lynnetta. If they're not fighters, they die all too quickly."

* * *

"Mom, this is my friend, Lynnetta."

A thin woman with long, curly, dark hair stands facing us from behind a large wash bin, trying to scrub the black soot from a threadbare, grey shirt. Upon hearing Markas's introduction, she looks up, sets the clothing to the side, and embraces me with her wiry arms. Not sure how to react, my hands lightly touch the small of her back. Immediately, I wish I hadn't. The woman is so underweight that her bones protrude from her skin, and I can feel them through her dress. When she releases me from the hug, my hands clasp behind my back, afraid of what else they might experience in such a dismal place.

Markas's home is more accurately described as a shack than a house - one room, no larger than my kitchen and living room at home. The furniture inside is crammed against the walls, and leaves little room for walking around. The room holds two beds, a fireplace with a pot for cooking, a small dresser, a set of rickety dining furniture, and the three-foot-high basin that Mrs. Fenly was washing clothing in. I assume the basin is used for taking baths as well, and I can only guess at where they relieve their bodily functions. Everything has a layer of coal dust on it, and it's hard to imagine Markas living in such awful conditions.

"Lynnetta, it's so wonderful to meet you. Welcome to our home. Please, sit. Reya will be back any moment."

Markas and I each take a seat; the grimy chair wobbles under my weight. The door swings open to reveal a small girl who looks to be around 12 years old, her head covered with dark curly hair like her mother's.

"Reya, I'd like to introduce you to my friend Lynnetta. She came all the way over here just to meet you and mom."

"Good to meet you, Lynnetta," Markas's sister addresses me cautiously.

Still in shock from the eye-opening place I find myself in, a nod in her direction is the only response I give. Her eyes narrow and stay focused on me as she walks around the room, perching herself on one of the beds. I'm glad Markas hadn't introduced me as his girlfriend, because his little sister is already clearly trying to burn a hole through my head with her stare. Thankfully, Mrs. Fenly breaks the awkward silence by striking up casual discussion with Markas.

"So, how was school today dear?"

"Boring and uneventful as always, mom."

"What did you learn about?"

"Coal, mom. What did you expect?"

I sit uncomfortably in the dirty, wooden chair through the rest of the afternoon, listening to Markas and his mother, and not uttering a single word. That is, until I notice the position of the sun.

"I should probably leave soon, to get home in time for supper," I say.

"You could stay, if you like," Mrs. Fenly offers.

The thought of staying in the shack for much longer makes me dizzy, but I don't want Markas to know how awful I feel inside.

"My mother would be upset if I didn't come home to eat. It's our family time."

Markas offers to walk me part of the way home, and I gladly accept. The exhausted coal miners are filling the streets of the Seam with black, on their ways home from work, and it feels like I can't get away from the scene fast enough. I use the setting sun as an excuse to half-walk, half-jog. After Markas leaves me and turns around to go back home, my stride breaks into a run. I let my feet fly beneath me, only slowing down a few blocks away from home to slow my heavy breathing. Gasping for air, I close my eyes and try to unsee the world in which Markas belongs.

* * *

All night and morning, thoughts of the Seam drift through my mind. The dirt and filth beyond what I could ever have imagined. The hungry faces of the people living there. And especially the fiery glare of Markas's sister. The look on her face was more than dislike, it was hatred. So as Markas and I walk towards the Victor's Village the next day, curiosity gets the best of me.

"Markas, tell me the truth. Does Reya hate me?"

"What?"

He stops and turns to look at me, placing his hands in mine.

"Lynn, why in Panem would you think my sister hates you? She only just met you yesterday!"

"Yeah, but did you see the way she glared at me the whole time I was there?"

It's obvious that he did see it, because he takes a while before answering, and when he does answer, his eyes won't meet mine.

"It's just that… Reya and I are very close. We sort of tell each other everything, so she kind of already knew about how I felt about you…"

"So she hated me before she met me?"

"No! No, that's not it at all. She was just expecting you to be someone... different."

"Different how? I hardly said a word! Like you said, she only just met me!"

"Yeah, but, Lynn… you're blonde."

"What? You've got to be kidding me! She doesn't like me because of my hair color? Isn't that a little over the top?"

"Lynn, what do you want me to say? You're parents are merchants, and your looks don't disguise it. And you're right, You were so shy around her and my mother, you hardly said a word. Reya just doesn't know you yet, and so yes, she's probably making assumptions about you. But the more time you spend with us, the more she will like you. Just like I learned to like you when we were put in the same remedial history class. Trust me, just give it time."

"Fine. But I still think it's a bit ridiculous."

"I won't disagree with you. So why not gIve Reya a chance to get to know you? Let's hang out with her in the meadow tomorrow."

The meadow is a patch of grass between the Seam and the electric fence that surrounds District 12 to keep wild animals out. To get to the meadow, I would have to walk through the Seam. I can tell Markas is beginning to sense my uneasiness, so I quickly skim my brain for a response.

"The meadow, Markas? Won't someone see?"

"No one that matters would see. And Reya always enjoys a trip to the meadow. We could have a contest to see who can build the best snowperson."

"But, isn't it supposed to be really cold tomorrow? We could get sick."

"Don't worry, we play in the snow all the time. We'll be fine."

Finally, out of excuses, I agree to Markas's plan, the pitting feeling in my stomach growing stronger by the second.

* * *

**AN: If you've read this far, I would love to hear comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism. Whether it's a "Hey, I don't like your story, it's dumb", the part you liked the most, what you think will happen, or a true critical review, I would love, love, love some more feedback! Thanks in advance!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next morning, I put on my grubbiest skirt and blouse. If today I'm going to walk through the Seam again, and try to impress Reya, I might as well try to look the part. I even smudge some dust on my cheek after leaving home for good measure. I'm completely prepared for what's coming today. The schoolhouse looms in front of me. I take a deep breath and walk closer to the large, wooden building. When I'm partially through the doorway, I feel a tug on the back my shirt. Spinning around on my heel, I find Markas's eyes meeting mine.

"Lynn, I have some bad news."

My teeth bite into my lower lip as my gut begins to tighten.

"Oh. Uhm... What is it?"

"Our neighbor, Mr. Larson, he's really sick. I promised his wife this morning I would go over there and look after him when school is finished, so she could buy some stuff from the marketplace."

My body begins to relax as the meaning of his words sink in. I won't have to go to the Seam today after all. I feel so foolish now, with the smudge on my face and my ugly clothes. What will all of the other girls at school think now? My hand rubs the dirt on my cheek as I reply, "That's so nice of you Markas. What a wonderful thing to do for them. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to spend with Reya on another day. I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose."

I turn to go, but Markas grabs my arms. Instead of letting me walk inside, he pulls me off to the right.

"Lynn, Reya will be coming over with me, and I was hoping you would come, too. It would really mean the world to me, and I know Reya would really respect you for it. You wouldn't have to do anything. Just sit there. Won't you come? Please?"

My muscles tense up and I resist the urge to smack him. No normal boyfriend, no matter how cute or how nice, should ask a girl to do something like this. Silly me, thinking the most terrible thing that could happen to me would be to have to go back to the Seam. I clearly stand corrected. Any kind of sickness in District Twelve is awful, but when the sick person is an old man in the Seam? It feels like my worst nightmare. But if I say no, I would be letting Markas down. And, I would look weak to Reya, which is the last thing I need when I really want her to like me. There's only one logical choice. And so even though every fiber in my body is screaming for me to say no, and to head straight back home and hide under my thin bedsheet, I reply, "Yep. Course I will."

* * *

On the way to the Seam, Markas holds my hand like last time. As his thumb rubs against mine, I find myself wishing the rolling feelings inside of me would take a break already.

Looking around at the dingy structures these people call their homes, I can't help wonder how they spend their money. Most of the adults work steady jobs in the mines. My grandparents had once lived here, in one of these very homes, exactly like these families, but they had the sense to become merchants. I know my father said it took a lot of hard work, and that it was difficult, but I can't look into the sunken faces of the mothers on these beaten streets and feel anything but disgust. Perhaps they should not have had as many children. Or maybe they should spend their earnings more wisely. Certainly they shouldn't have to live this way, but they do, and I hate the way they seem so at peace with it.

My feet tread clumsily underneath me as we turn around a corner. Markas begins to slow, and his home is visible up ahead. A lump catches in my throat. I'm not sure what made me think I would be able to handle this, but it's too late now to run. Markas gently knocks on weathered wood in front of us, and a tall woman with dark circles under her eyes opens the door. A sad smile reaches the corners of her lips as she speaks.

"Markas. Thank you so much for coming. I haven't been able to go out and get food or medicine in days. He's been getting worse and worse and I could not stand to leave him alone. He was finally able to fall asleep though. That's what he's doing now. I really do appreciate your help."

"Anything for you, Mrs. Lawson. You think I would forget how you bought medicine for my mother when she was ill? Never. So it's the absolute least I can do, to come and help Mr. Lawson while you run your errands."

Mrs. Lawson clasps Markas's shoulders and plants a quick kiss on his forehead. After a brief moment, she lets go and pulls a scarf over her head and shoulders.

"When he wakes, give him a fresh compress, and some of the broth on the fire. Thank you, both of you. Although, I don't believe we've met, young lady."

Now she's addressing me; something I'm not prepared for. Not knowing what else to do, I glance nervously at Markas.

"This is my friend Lynnetta, Mrs. Lawson. She's just here to keep me company. Reya will be here soon, too, if that's alright."

"Of course. Well, thank you, Lynnetta, for your interest in watching over my husband. I'm indebted."

She places her hand against my cheek and smiles at me, then walks briskly out the front door. The place where her fingers touched my face is cool, and I have to touch it to make sure I'm not imagining the temperature. Her hand was chilled to the bone, and it felt as if she had sucked all the warmth out of my cheek. The sensation reminds me of touching a cold, metal pot on a wintery day. I don't like it.

Markas and I take the next few minutes to survey our surroundings and try to make ourselves comfortable. The Lawson residence is much like that of the Fenly's, except it boasts two rooms instead of one. A small door, which I assume leads to the bedroom where Mr. Lawson sleeps, is snugly fit into a back corner. Like the rest of District Twelve, everything is covered in a thin layer of coal dust. We sit down at the kitchen table, and I fold my hands neatly in my lap.

A long silence follows the scraping of our chairs against the floor. My eyelids shut slowly and I try to pretend Markas and I are somewhere far away from here. Maybe at a picnic in the Victor's Village in springtime. But a deep, rasping cough coming from the back room won't let me escape. Mr. Lawson's hacking goes on and on, and soon Markas leaves his position opposite me at the table to check on him. As soon as the bedroom door closes behind him, the front one opens to reveal a wind-burnt Reya.

"Where's my brother?" she asks bluntly, and with a slight hint of accusation, I might add.

"He's in the bedroom. Mr. Lawson was coughing, so Markas went to check up on him."

As she moves towards the back room, something inside tells me this might be my only chance alone with her.

"I'm sure he'll be out soon. You can sit down with me if you like."

Her body turns towards me, a confused expression on her face.

"What?" she replies, calmly.

"You can sit with me. I'm sure everything is fine. He'll only be a moment. I don't bite, you know."

Technically, this isn't true, because I suppose there was that one time I bit Madelaine Donner when we were five, but I was provoked; she had been holding the hand of a boy I liked. Well, no matter what the situation, I probably shouldn't mention that to the little girl that I am trying to win the approval of.

Reya takes the seat beside me. Her arms fold across her chest as she wrinkles her eyebrows, as if she's frustrated and can't quite decide what to think of the situation. I shift in my seat uncomfortably, and try to diffuse her uncertainty of me with small talk.

"So… Reya. What did you learn at school today?"

"Give it a break already. I know my brother likes you. I know you're going to try and win me over. But I know girls exactly like you. They're prissy. They make fun of kids from the Seam. They braid their stupid blonde hair every day, and they think they're better than me."

Suddenly I'm overly aware of the tight braid against my back. And I'm not sure how to respond. Unfortunately, some merchant kids will bully children from the Seam from time to time. I, personally, would never do something like that, but I can see how Reya could easily group me into the same category, especially if she's been a victim of bullying from other kids in her year. I'm still trying to form a good answer to her bitter charges when Markas emerges.

"Reya, I need you to run and find Mrs. Lawson. Tell her she needs to get here right away. Go, now."

The steadiness and urgency in his voice fill the room. The little girl, who was firmly planted and accusing me so deftly moments before, is now already off the chair and out the door like a bird in flight. Markas grabs a towel out of a small cupboard and dips it in a cold bucket of water on the floor.

"Lynnetta, I need you to run next door and see if my mother is home. I need her to go into town and bring the healer. Then come back here and help me cool him down. He's sweating terribly and-"

Markas's words are interrupted by more awful coughing sounds echoing from the back room.

"Hurry, Lynn. I think he may be dying."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

In District Twelve, we have a special gesture to show respect to those we love. It is most used to honor the dead. If you extend only the three middle fingers of your left hand, press them to your lips, and then hold them out towards the sky, then you've just done it. Mr. Lawson died three days ago of consumption, the day that I went with Markas to visit him. Before I left, Markas kept bringing out bloody rags from the bedroom. Mr. Lawson wasn't just coughing. He was coughing up blood. I'm not sure how Markas's stomach could handle it. I threw up twice on the way home that night from simply thinking about it. Mrs. Lawson said her husband had been sick for over a month, and the healer said there was nothing we could do. The only medicine strong enough is in the Capitol, and the Lawson's would never have been able to afford it.

Sitting in my room, tracing the grain of the gray planks in my floor, I feel awful that I did not go to the funeral today. But if I had went, my parents would have wanted to know how I knew who Mr. Lawson was. Instead, I pay my respects by pressing my fingers to my lips and extending them towards my window, sending them to where Mrs. Lawson, Markas, his mother, and Reya, are all mourning the loss of a man I never actually met.

Most of the day passes by lazily. It's a Saturday, so there is no school. Panlee is back to being healthy, I guess, because my father did not ask for me to help in the shop this morning. Last night was the big celebration for Haymitch in the Capitol, so tonight will be a feast in District Twelve. Since my family does not own a food shop, we are not expected to provide anything for the Victory Banquet that will be held at the mayor's house. But, because my father is friends with Mayor Overton, I will have to dress up and listen to long boring speeches and small talk all night, while the rest of District Twelve actually has fun celebrating together in the town square. Some people from the Capitol will be at the banquet, so my mother insists I must look my best.

My best dress is light blue, with ten blue buttons down the back. It falls to my knees, and the sleeves barely cover my shoulders. As I put it on to get ready to leave, all I can think about is how cold it will be, walking over to the Overton's without winter attire.

Mayor Overton's house is two-stories high with white plank siding all the way around. Besides the homes in the Victor's Village, it's easily the most luxurious dwelling in the District. My parents and I arrive just a few minutes before seven. We squeeze in through the front door frame and out of the cold, to be immediately met by the mayor, a large, jolly, bald man, who then pulls my father and I into a cramped hug.

"Flaxbourne! Good to see you made it. Good, good. And brought the girls, I see. Always a lovely sight, those two. Everyone is gathering in the parlor, come on, this way."

The parlor is a green-colored room directly to our left, filled with 2 sofas, 4 chairs, and a small table that barely reaches my knee. People are crowded into the room, most holding glasses of alcohol, in various colors and amounts. Many merchant families have already arrived, along with Haymitch and his crazy crew from the Capitol. One of the female adults I don't recognize has hair as green as spring grass, and her ears end in a point at the top. Another has spots tattooed all over her back, which is showcased by a violet dress that really looks more like a long skirt sewn to the front half of a shirt and fastened around her neck to keep it from falling off. I wonder who told those two that they looked presentable enough to go out in public like that. People in the Capitol are crazy.

The cocktail hour in the parlor goes on for another 20 minutes before anyone else arrives. Pretty soon the entire room is so full that its almost impossible to move without bumping into everyone around you. My parents are off talking to some of the other shop owners on the other side of the room. I'm stuck with nothing to do and no one to talk to. The nearest people to me are the butcher and his wife, and they're happily engaged in a mushy flirt session. It kind of makes me want to get sick all over them. I'm not so sure how well that would go over in such a tight area.

I remember that some others from my school are likely to be here with their families as well, so my eyes begin to scope the room. Iris Undersee, a pretty girl in the year above me, and her older brother are among the crowd, but I've never really spoken to either of them. Now that I think about it, I'm not really sure who I'm looking for, since I've never really spoken to much of anyone besides Genever and Markas since the day I turned twelve. I guess you could say I'm kind of a loner. But still, I would love to find just one person to casually converse with for the next few hours, to both relieve my boredom and save my sanity.

No one else catches my attention until after Mayor Overton calls everyone to the buffet set up in the dining room. Tables have been set up in the sitting room as well, since there are so many of us at the banquet. We file into the dining room and load our plates up with an extravagant meal that no one in District Twelve would ever normally have been able to afford: leafy salad, roasted pheasant, rolls with cheese baked on top, garlicky mashed potatoes, and some sort of bean I have never seen before. The beans must have been brought in from another district. As I sit down in the sitting room, licking my lips and admiring the plump bird on my plate, I hear a familiar voice say my name.

"Lynnetta?"

I look up to see a boy with ashy blonde hair.

"We thought that was you. How are you liking the party?"

It's Calen Mellark.

* * *

**AN: As always, reviews are happily welcome! And thank you to my followers for_ Pride_ so far: A Kitten With A Pen, SmoochiePooh, Kittens in the Closet, earthling44, and foxgirl98. I love my readers! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Calen and I used to be friends back when we were younger. We weren't thick as thieves or anything, but we would hang out together during outside play at school. It was not until around age 10 that we started growing apart. Calen went through puberty at a much faster pace than I did, growing quickly into a handsome boy, one noticed by all. Girls began stealing him away from me at play time, and we spent less and less in each other's company. Of course, being the baker's son, Calen was easily the healthiest boy in my year. Hauling flour sacks every day strengthened and toned his muscles, adding to his list of desirable traits. Naturally, every female's parents had their eyes on him for their daughter. Soon, at all hours of the school day, and sometimes afterwards too, Calen found himself in the company of other merchant girls that were more attractive and not as rough around the edges as myself.

So, my circle of friends was forced to change. My personality grew more blatantly sarcastic, and I found that I fit in better with children who did not directly live in town. Genever, who came from a family not merchant, but not Seam, quickly became my best friend. I haven't spoken to other merchant girls in my year since Genever became friends. The things they usually talk about, like boys, hairstyles, and town gossip, completely bore me to tears. And since those are the girls Calen surrounds himself with… honestly, I think this may be the first time he's spoken directly to me in two or three years.

Standing behind Calen is Clara Tenderling, the daughter of the town apothecary and healer. I guess she must be the other part to Calen's "we". The two sit down beside me, placing their dishes on the table. They look at me expectantly, awaiting an answer to the question I have already forgotten.

"I'm sorry, what did you ask? I was lost in thought."

"How do you like the party so far? Nice little soiree, don't you think?"

I can't tell if he's joking around or not. The party is a complete snooze-fest. Before I'm aware of the quizzical look on my face or the awkwardly long amount of time I'm taking to answer, Calen jumps in again.

"Not enjoying it, then. Alright."

He looks down at his plate, piled high with the delectable meal, his nostrils moving as he takes in the aroma of the fare.

"Well, the food looks marvelous. I don't think there's ever been a time that I've been able to eat something quite as fantastic. I hope it tastes as good as it smells."

We sit in silence, savoring our dinner, until more people being to arrive at the table. The butcher and his wife sit across from us. At first, I think they might actually be plotting to ruin my night with their sappy glee. But instead of resuming the excessive flirting, they strike up a conversation with Calen and Clara.

"So, Calen. How have you been, son?"  
"Good, Mr. Marxwright. And Mrs. Marxwright." He nods in the direction of the butcher's wife and she gives a coy smile. I'm so caught up in the piece of meat stuck in her teeth that I nearly miss Calen's next words.

"You both remember my girlfriend, Clara?"

"Ah yes, of course, Mr. Tenderling's daughter. How are you dear?"

Calen is dating Clara. Exclusively, too. Well, I can't say it surprises me, but it does stir up a little emotion. She's nice and all, and an expert healer from what I can tell of the conversation going on next to me, but she's just not who I expected for Calen. I always thought he would go for someone a little smarter. Someone less vain.

The pitter-patter between the two couples goes on for the rest of the night. They speak of the weather and business and who in DIstrict Twelve is likely to get married next. It's times like these that I'm glad a future life with Markas means I won't have to deal with idiotic things like this. Dinner parties and shallow girls.

When my parents find me, I'm huddled in an armchair a few feet away from the table where my dinner company still sits, trying to lose myself in thought as Calen's fingers draw swirly patterns on Clara's palm.

"Lynnetta, darling angel. It's time to go home. Why don't you go say goodbye to your little friends and we'll find your coat," my father suggests sweetly. I have a feeling he's had a little too much white wine this evening.

"They're hardly my friends, papa."

I pull myself out of the chair and briskly walk over to the coat racks in the hall.

"Lynnetta, don't you think you should say goodbye to Calen? He's such a sweet boy," my mother asks as she plucks my jacket from the rack and hands it to me, giving me a sharp look in the process.

So they've been pulled into Calen's charm, just like the other parents. Great. One more thing to worry about. Absolutely lovely.

Still, I take a deep breath to calm myself, and then walk over to the table where the two couples are still engaged in a light discussion. I smile as as sweetly as I can.

"It was great to see everyone. Get home safely. Goodnight."

They all wave politely and wish me safety as well. With that finished, I skirt away and out of the door, pausing only a moment on the porch for my parents to catch up with me.

* * *

In the middle of the night I awake from a nightmare where I'm running through the Seam, away from something chasing me. It's dark, with a mist the creeps over the worn dirt path, and everywhere I turn leads to a dead end. Crawling out of the houses around me are corpses coming to life, black from coal and wet with blood. But they aren't what I'm running from. They just keep getting in the way, and redirecting my path. Finally, I find myself at the center of the town square. The moonlight illuminates a shadowing figure to my left, and another to my right. One of them is my father. The other is Markas. They had both been chasing me, but which one was I running from?

* * *

**AN: Don't be shy! I love to hear from readers. Although the main storyline is mapped out, there are lots of little details to fine tune and create, and I love ideas and input. As always, thank you for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Over the next few weeks, I quickly discover that the nightmare from the night of Haymitch's Victory Feast was only the beginning. They come and go, always leaving me paralyzed in a cold sweat when I awake. Sometimes I am surrounded by starving children, coming to eat my flesh, other times I'm confined within a glass box, my father peering in at me disapprovingly, and I can't escape his gaze. There also seems to be a correlation between going to the Seam with Markas after school and having a night terror in the dark, early hours of the morning. I won't admit it to him though. Still, I find myself spending less and less time with him, making stupid excuses not to hang out, and growing ever more alone.

It's been at least a month since Haymitch's return, and the sun has just started to melt away the snow in time for spring. Markas catches my hand on the way out of the schoolhouse.

"Lynn, I know you've been busy with the shop, but can I please steal you away? Just for today. There's something in the Victor's Village I want you to see."

His eyes are the kindest I've ever seen. The grey of ice in the middle of winter; so clear and focused. I know I can't keep avoiding his company, it's not fair to either of us that I'm so suddenly afraid of commitment.

"Well, is it spectacular, Fenly?"

"If it wasn't spectacular, would I want you to see it?"

"Good point. I'd love to go to the Victors Village with you."

As he drops my hand to move a few paces ahead of me, deterring suspicion as always, a sense of loss overwhelms me. Have I pushed everyone away so much, that I am this hungry for human contact? What kind of monster have I become? And in that moment, I suddenly don't care what everyone else thinks. Markas is mine, and I am his. Why should we have to hide it? My feet quicken their pace to catch up to his long strides, and my craving fingers grasp for his. The warm spots from where his skin touches mine consume my body, and I'm left jogging in an elated, bubbling joy. Markas turns to glance at me and my sudden display, smiling, with surprise evident in his face.

"Don't let go, Markas," I say through my grin.

"I won't, Lynn. You're the only thing worth holding on to."

* * *

As we near our normal place behind the first row of homes in the Victor's Village, Markas tells me to close my eyes. I'm not much for surprises, but the good ones are few and far between here in District Twelve, so I play along. His hands take hold of mine, lead me to the perfect spot, wherever that may be, and then rest themselves on my hips as he wraps his arms around me from behind.

"Okay. Open your eyes now."

Something is not right. The muddy snow should not have such a vivid color mixed into it. Deep purple. A flower. A columbine, I think, is the correct name for it. The first real sign that winter is over. And it found it's home right in our special place. I wait a few moments before saying anything, giving the moment time to sink in.

"Oh, it's so small, and beautiful. Thank you, Markas. It's so lovely. Really."

"Small, beautiful, and lovely. Exactly the words I would use to describe you," he says with hint of sarcasm.

"Why do you say it like that, sir?"

"Lynn, I love you, but that doesn't make you lovely," he laughs.

He's right. I may be a lot of things, like spunky, stern, or stubborn, but I'm definitely anything but lovely. The word itself makes me think of little pink birds flittering about, dusting superfluous emotions over brazen beauties. Nope. Lovely. Not me.

"At least I can tell that you know me well enough. Maybe better than I know myself," I say with a smirk.

"You know that I do."

His tone has shifted from light-hearted to serious in a matter of seconds. My fingers tighten around his wrists, hoping the pressure will stop whatever direction he's headed in.

"Lynn, I know something's wrong. Why won't you tell me what it is?" His concerned words ring sharply in my ear.

"Nothing is wrong, Markas. I- I don't know what you're talking about."

Why does my voice always hitch when I lie? What am I supposed to do now? Fake a heart attack? Someone should come up with a word that forces the other person you're speaking with to switch subjects.

"Lynnetta. I'm here for you. I always have been and will continue to be for a very, very long time. So give it up and let me in on your secret. What's going on?"

His warm breath on the back of my neck sends chills all through me. Minutes pass in silence. I don't know what to say, so I simply say nothing.

"Please, please tell me. Are there problems at home? Is it something I did? Tell me, Lynn. I want to fix it. I want you to be okay. You haven't been okay in weeks."

There is a hurting in my heart that won't leave. And I know that it will never leave unless I can get Markas to stop prying. I'm torn because I want him to know my fear, to know that I'm afraid of spending the rest of my life with him and I'm not even sure why. And at the same time, so much of my fear comes from the idea of him knowing my thoughts. I don't want to lose Markas, he's the only person who understands me on even the most basic level. I decide that instead of answering him, I will simply shut him up.

My body twists in his arms until I face him, my hands pulling him in tighter. My lips tremble as they press against his, moving with a new sense of urgency. Suddenly, I can't get him close enough, can't kiss him deeply enough. This must be what real passion feels like. His fingers tangle themselves in the hair closest to my scalp, pulling and tugging, loosening my braids. We knock against the back wall of the nearest house, and I feel his body pushing mine into the coarse, wooden siding. I trace every angle of his face, memorizing every inch of skin, every rough patch of hair. He tastes so wonderful. And as I'm praying it will never end, Markas pulls away.

"Lynn, we can't be together, can we?"

It sounds more like a statement than a questions. Tears well up in my eyes and I won't look at him when I speak.

"Don't say things like that, Markas. You're all I want."

I catch a hold of his jacket, keeping us inches apart. But with the way he's talking, it feels like miles between us.

"That's not true. You want a real, proper life. With a proper house and…"

He sighs and brings his hands up to cover his face, pulling them down slowly to rest on his chin, fingers covering his lips.

"A proper husband. Someone who isn't from the Seam."

My throat tightens and my breath begins to shorten, leaving me shuddering violently as I attempt to talk.

"Markas, I love you. I love you so much. Please stop, you're j-jumping to c-conclusions."

There goes my voice, cracking again. But this time, it's because my dry heaving is turning into turbulent sobs. It's just my luck that I fell in love with a boy who knows me all too well.

"I'm not jumping to conclusions. If I was wrong here, Lynn, you wouldn't be acting like this. Please stop crying. I love you, too, but…"

His lips rest against my forehead and he draws me into a strong embrace. When I finally regain some composure, Markas loosens his grasp.

"I'm sorry that I ever expected you to make such a huge sacrifice. I got caught up in a delusion. Sometimes I forget how different our worlds are, and I get lost in the idea of us. But no matter how we spin it, one of us is going to end up unhappy. I can't let it be you."

This time I don't resist the urge to slap him. The action gives me courage to speak, and the words feel like angry daggers spitting off my tongue.

"How dare you! You think that you alone can determine my happiness? This is what I want. You are what I want. You are my happiness."

My hand tingles where it made contact with his cheek.

"Lynn, you don't get it. If you end up with me forever, no matter how much we're in love, you will have to live in the Seam, and you will be unhappy. I'm sorry that I didn't see it before now. I should have seen the signs. Your silence at my house, the way you never greeted any of my neighbors. I'm sorry to say this, but if you don't have me holding you back, then you will be free to find someone else, someone who will fall in love with you just as easily as I did. Someone who, when you marry them, can make sure you're happy in every way. You can't choose me and happiness."

I know his words should make sense logically, but they don't. If I don't have Markas, I won't have anyone at all. No one to talk to, no one to be with. The past few weeks of self-induced solitude have been torture, even if it did calm the nightmares. Sleeping soundly through the night is not enough to let the most important person in my life sacrifice our love, especially for my sake. I begin to plead.

"You're the one who doesn't get it. I'm not going to stop loving you. Please don't act this way. I told you, you're what I want. You're what makes me happy. I don't have anything else. Please. I chose you and I choose you and I'll choose you over everything, every single time."

But Markas is already kissing me goodbye. A brush of the lips, and I can feel my heart being wrenched from my chest as he steps backwards.

"You can choose me all you want, Lynn. But it won't change anything. I'm sorry. I won't choose you."

I drop to the ground as he walks away, searing pain cutting through my chest. My eyes clamp shut, trying to block out the torment. When they open, I am completely and hopelessly alone.

* * *

**AN: Fear not, readers, the end of the fanfic is still far, far away! It was just time to get the ball rolling! Please review with constructive criticism on any parts, or comments about anything you particularly enjoyed. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you as a follower of the story soon! :)**


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